


Trade Baby Blues For Wide-Eyed Browns

by thisismy_design (thisismydesignn)



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismydesignn/pseuds/thisismy_design
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyone who thinks that James T. Kirk is a slut has clearly never met Chris Pine.</p>
<p>...so why is Zach the only one <i>not</i> on the receiving end of his affections?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trade Baby Blues For Wide-Eyed Browns

**Author's Note:**

> ...I don't even know what this is. Written four years ago for a friend, decided I'd post it in honor of the new film, and it's ridiculous (and I clearly have a problem where Chris Pine's eyes are concerned, um), but I sincerely hope someone else will enjoy it!
> 
> All the usual disclaimers (not real, etc., etc.) and warnings for excessive italics, run-on sentences and cursing.

           Anyone who thinks that James T. Kirk is a slut has clearly never met Chris Pine.

           Chris knows better than to deny it, but that doesn’t stop him from blaming the rest of the cast for being “too damn attractive” for him to resist. It’s flattering, sure, but Karl and Eric are _married,_ for fuck’s sake, they’ve got wives and kids waiting at home and it’s just not _fair_ for Chris to back them into their trailers or bathroom stalls or what have you, dropping to his knees and looking up at them with those big fucking blue eyes through those thick fucking eyelashes and _begging_ , _just once, please, you looked so hot out there and I want, I want,_ because who can say no to _that?_

           To their credit, Karl and Eric tell their wives immediately after they’ve managed to disengage themselves from from an all-too-eager Chris, accompanied, no doubt, by pleas of their innocence and _‘it meant nothing, I swear’_ s and _‘I love you’_ s, though despite the fact that he’s a pain in the ass (pun entirely intended), they’re still a little bit in love with Chris, too. He’s just one of those people, a talent which comes in handy when, to _their_ credit, Natalie and Rebecca take one look at him, at those _fucking_ eyes, and there are no more questions. They get it. It sure as hell won’t happen again, but. They get it.

           So, naturally, Zach’s a little, well, put out when Chris doesn’t…well, put out. At least, not for him. Not that Zach _wants_ him to, mind you, but. Equal treatment, and all that. It isn’t _fair._ 'Course, Chris never fights fair. It’s, like, a rule. He was _born_ to play Kirk, Zach thinks, then thinks of the beautiful women eating out of Kirk’s palm in just about every episode of the original series.

           Jealousy isn’t the right word, but it’s the first word that comes to mind.

_Oh well,_ Zach thinks, _at least Spock gets the girl in this one._

           Interestingly enough, said girl is the only one who manages to avoid Chris’ advances without the threat of a restraining order (not that any of them would ever follow through, but apparently the look on Chris’ face at the words is _priceless._ Not that Zach would know, of course). Even though a relationship with Zoe would be the easiest, the least complicated, for all involved-- and it’s not for lack of attraction, Chris knows she’s hot, and sweet, and wonderful, and there _could_ definitely be something there, maybe-- Chris shows zero interest in pursuing the matter.

           Zach thinks that maybe the challenge is what appeals to Chris in the first place.

           But that _still_ doesn’t explain Chris’ insistence on a strictly platonic relationship where Zach is concerned. As platonic as relationships with Chris can ever be, that is-- there’s still touching, _frequent_ touching, and Chris’ rather adorable obsession with cuddling-- but they’ve never even _kissed,_ and then Zach starts to wonder if maybe there’s something wrong with _him._

           Zach’s never been a self-conscious person. There have only been a few moments throughout his life where he can recall actually feeling _unsure_ of himself (and no, sporting a Spock haircut until he was fourteen does not qualify as one of said moments, humiliating as it is upon reflection), and never has his confidence hit a low for such a trivial reason. He’s never let anyone, _anyone_ get under his skin enough to bring him down like this, and he can’t understand why Chris fucking Pine should be any different. He tries to justify it to himself by reasoning that Chris is his best friend, but his _brand new_ best friend and he doesn’t want to fuck anything up for the sake of the movie, the franchise, because if they don’t get along then Zach isn’t so sure he can manage two more films with the guy. Because they _do_ get along, so it’s all good. For now. (What he doesn’t think is-- _until I want more. Because Chris is my best friend, but my brand new best friend who I might very possibly want to fuck--_ because it would take Matt Parkman’s powers, or Centaurian slugs, or at the very least a few drinks to get Zach anywhere near divulging such information.)

            Anyway, point is, Zach blames Chris for his own sudden, irrational drop in self-esteem, and much as he loves the guy (too much, perhaps), he’s not going to let Chris off the hook without an explanation.

            And when Zach walks in on Chris with Anton pressed to the wall of the makeshift turbolift (the kid’s _twenty,_ for god’s sake) he decides that sooner is better than later. For all involved.

\---

            Okay, so things don’t work out quite as planned; they finish filming and it’s months before they even see each other on a regular basis. They’ve both got other projects to work on, and sure, there’s the occasional party, press event, but it’s less than ideal, at least for the conversation Zach has in mind. Or, rather, the way he hopes said conversation will end. The hiatus has proved useful in that sense, at least: being away from Chris has given Zach a chance to clear his head, evaluate the situation with a logic Spock would approve of, and it’s been more than enough time for him to conclude that he is, in fact, absolutely infatuated with his best-friend-co-star-inexplicably-not-fuck-buddy. Not that there was much question to begin with, but at least Zach can admit it to _himself_ now.

            Admitting it to Chris, though? Not so easy. And it’s not just because Zach can see himself forgetting every carefully chosen, rehearsed word the moment he looks into those baby blues (though they’re actually more of an ocean blue, or maybe cerulean); he honestly _doesn’t_ want to fuck up whatever it is they have, this friendship that he doesn’t want to lose even if Chris isn’t interested in…anything more.

            Yet somehow Zach has a feeling that isn’t the case. What _is_ the case, he intends to find out.

            So, premiere season rolls around. World tour. Paris. And he invites Chris on a date.

            Just Chris. And him.

            Which is why he’s a little bit confused when Zoe tags along, pulling Zach aside to whisper in his ear, “I’m sorry, he invited me, I couldn’t say no, think of it as moral support?” before Chris interrupts, infectious exuberance almost managing to dispel Zach’s anxiety. Almost.

            In the end, he’s glad Zoe’s there: she knows, she’s known since before Zach himself even knew, probably, and she’s there to give him the push he needs when he sees Chris’ eyes sparkling mischievously in the dim light of Le Baron, almost enough to drive Zach away, but, “Go,” Zoe urges, following Zach’s gaze to where Chris is dancing, flashes illuminating his figure every few seconds, bodies pressed hot and close around him. Zach looks at Zoe like she’s insane, but shrinks away at the dangerous spark in her eyes, worried about the harm that awaits if he doesn’t do as he’s told. He knows it’s not her wrath he’ll have to fear if he gives up now, though: after all, his heart is what’s at stake here.

            He downs the remainder of his liquid courage with a grimace and moves out to the floor, turning back only once to shoot daggers at Zoe, who rolls her eyes and turns back to the bar to give her boys the time alone they so desperately need. _They’ll thank me in the morning,_ she notes smugly, contemplating the shot before her with a mild smirk.

            Out on the dance floor, Zach is relieved to realize that Chris is as awful at dancing as he is. Maybe worse. Well, no. But still bad.

            Of course, on Chris, it’s fucking endearing.

            Anyway, said realization is enough to make Zach smile, the slightest bit calmer as he presses his fingers to Chris’ hips, swaying along with him, rocking too close but Chris just pulls him closer, and here, with them, this could be anything, lighthearted fun or something more, but Zach doesn’t know where the line is or if they’ve crossed it…

            And when their eyes meet seconds later, Zach’s first thought is _shit, big mistake,_ trying and failing miserably to tear his gaze from the hunger, the desperation behind the blue, the--

            Wait, what?

            Then Chris is muttering, “fuck it,” and pulling Zach’s face to his own, and he tastes like alcohol and pine (and Zach almost giggles at this, almost but not quite, because one does not giggle when Chris Pine’s tongue is in one’s mouth) and something distinctly _Chris,_ something Zach can’t put his finger on but _damn,_ he likes it.

            Breathing, Zach decides, is overrated: he doesn’t ever want to stop kissing Chris, particularly not when Chris’ hand curls around the back of his neck to hold him there, doing that _thing_ with his _tongue,_ and it’s been a long time since a kiss has been enough to make Zach literally weak in the knees but he’s somehow not surprised that Chris is fucking amazing at this, as amazing at this as everything else he does.

            Of course, Zach doesn’t know _everything_ he can do just yet…

            He groans at the thought just as Chris begins to pull away, and Zach tries to cling to him but knows that if he doesn’t breathe, well, he’ll die, and he doesn’t really want to die, particularly not if he can do _this,_ again and again and again and _wow, I think half my brain cells just imploded,_ and then they’re separating with a gasp and all Zach can do is lean his forehead to Chris’ and breathe his air and drown in his fucking _eyes._

They’re no longer moving with the music, the bass thumping beneath their feet as they hold on to each other, Chris’ fingers still tangled into the hair at the base of Zach’s neck and Zach’s own hands pressed to Chris’ hips while the rest of the club continues to sway around them, oblivious, and the world’s still turning beneath them but here, together, _really_ together, finally, they don’t notice that anything else even _exists,_ anymore.

            Later, Zach thinks how lucky it is that no one noticed them, not that the threat of paparazzi would have stopped them, but still. _Still._

Back on the dance floor, seconds that feel like hours tick by until Chris heaves a sigh and grabs Zach’s hand, dragging him to the bar where Zoe sits obediently, concealing her grin as she looks up at the pair expectantly. “We’re leaving, _mon amie,_ ” Chris instructs, turning to Zach to press his lips to his ear and murmur, _“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir, monsieur?”_

A shiver courses through Zach at the words; he may not be an expert at French (and why Chris suddenly _is_ , he has no idea, and makes a mental note to ask), but he’d learned a thing or two from watching Moulin Rouge. _“Oui,”_ he responds simply, not allowing himself to pause, to consider the potential consequences-- he’s done enough pondering, damn it. He knows what he wants. He’s never been more sure of what he wants, and he wants it-- _him-- now._

Zoe grabs her clutch and shakes off her last few suitors, smiling sweetly as she lets them down. She shakes her head in silent laughter as she looks back at Chris and Zach, hands clasped tightly as their gazes lock, completely lost in one another. _It’s about time,_ she thinks, before she notices one of her rejected suitors eyeing Zach with blatant interest. Making a little noise of disgust, Zoe moves them along; she isn’t going to let some random stranger fuck this up for them. She gets it, she does (Zach’s so tall, and dark, and _tall,_ fuck), but this has been frustrating her for _months,_ and it’s not just her, it’s the entire fucking cast, and none of them can believe that it’s taken Chris and Zach this long to just figure it out and give in but now they _have_ and suddenly something just feels like it’s fallen into place.

            The cool midnight air is refreshing after the stifling fog that had settled over the club, and it clears the boys’ heads enough to realize that holding hands out here probably isn’t the best idea. Reluctantly, they let go, though they walk close enough that their fingers brush, the briefest sensation of skin on skin enough to drive them both insane with _need._

Letting out a shuddering breath, Chris starts to talk, voice low as he attempts to calm himself. “Paris… _la ville des lumieres,_ ” he sighs, the French rolling off his tongue in a way that has Zach trembling, glancing at him for a translation.

            “The city of lights,” Chris tells him, catching Zach’s gaze with a grin, but it’s softer than his usual smile, warmer, less distant, and as the streetlights reflect and shine off those wide pools of blue, Zach feels himself tense, feels something coil in the pit of his stomach, consuming him, and _god_ he wants to kiss Chris, open up that smile beneath his lips and take everything Chris has to offer, give everything he himself has to give…

            But then a very different light illuminates the glow of Chris’ eyes as the paparazzi catch up to them, and they step away from each other instinctively as they quicken their pace to match Zoe’s, ignoring the cameras and clamoring questions that follow close behind. “City of lights, my ass,” Zach grumbles, shaking his head at the flashes that reflect off the smooth cobblestones and storefront windows; he hears Chris chuckle beside him and he grins but he doesn’t dare look into those eyes again. It doesn’t matter that there are cameras hot on their heels; his self-control is far from impeccable, at least where Chris is concerned, and there’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll lose it if he lets himself look.

            Lucky that their hotel is only a few blocks away; they leave the paps at the door with absolutely nothing of interest to report, which means, naturally, that by 6 A.M. Zach and Zoe will have been “holding hands and snuggling as they returned from a wild night on the town, while Chris hung back with a lady friend who looked suspiciously like model Beau Garrett; the couple was spotted dancing together at Le Baron earlier that night” and then Zach will be just a little bit insulted, because Beau’s a lovely girl, really, but he’d rather prefer to think he looks more like, well, himself.

            None of that seems particularly relevant at the moment, though, not when Zoe is pushing Chris and Zach into the elevator in front of her, kissing them each on the cheek and informing them that she’ll be taking the _next_ elevator, accompanied by the dirtiest wink either of them has ever seen and a cheery “be safe, boys!” as the door slides shut between them.

            Zach’s mouth hangs open in mild disbelief, a fact which Chris notes with satisfaction as he turns to Zach only moments later, pinning him back against the wall and kissing him hard. Zach forgets his shock instantly and kisses back, mouth hot and eager and wet against Chris’, and he can’t remember the last time he felt like this, if he’s _ever_ felt like this…

            They spring apart instinctively as the door slides open, though there’s little to worry about at this hour; taking advantage of this fact, they stumble down the hallway already wrapped around one another, Zach’s lips on the back of Chris’ neck as Chris tries and fails to slide the key into the lock. “Fucking door,” he mutters, kicking at it halfheartedly, reaching back to tug Zach closer with his free hand, “the things you do to me…” And Zach just grins against the flush creeping over Chris’ skin, peering over his shoulder as he tugs the key from his grasp and unlocks the door in a single movement. He slips the card into Chris’ back pocket and crosses the threshold, laughing silently at the mutter of “fuckin’ _unfair”_ from behind him. He barely manages to flip the light on before the door clicks shut and he’s slammed up against it in a not-entirely-unexpected display of Chris’ strength.

            “Hey,” Zach says as they face each other, amazed he can control himself with that face, those _eyes_ mere inches from his own, though that might have more to do with the death grip Chris has on him than anything else. He applauds himself inwardly nonetheless, at least until Chris growls “hey yourself” and ducks his head to kiss along Zach’s neck, jaw, up to the corner of his mouth, and then Zach is trembling, and Chris presses to him with a certain sense of relief at the way Zach’s shivering masks his own.

            With his eyes closed, because Zach knows it’s the only way he can manage this, and Chris’ breath hot on his lips, Zach has to ask: “Why now? What-- what happened? And why did you bring Zoe tonight? And how do you know French? And--”

            And then Chris is kissing him again, because it’s the only guaranteed way of getting Zach to shut up, and Zach is starting to think how maybe he should try to initiate _something_ , but then he thinks about the fact that _Chris Pine_ is kissing _him,_ and he thinks that maybe his brain should, like his mouth, shut up.

            Chris only means to silence Zach, but he can’t be blamed if the kiss drags on a bit longer than anticipated; he’s fucking _addicted,_ already, and he can’t think of a good reason why they haven’t done this before, why they haven’t been doing this for a _very long time,_ except that he can, and he, too, wishes that his brain would find an occasion to just _leave him alone_ because he’s not a fucking Vulcan and he can be as illogical as he pleases, even when the only standards of logic he’s breaking are his own.

            He’s reluctant to pull his mouth away, but he won’t let this go any further without being _sure_ that he and Zach are on the same page. This doesn’t need to be more complicated than it already is-- though Chris is fairly certain they’ve already passed the point of no return, if the insistence of Zach’s lips on his own, not to mention his own answering enthusiasm, is any indication.

            He pins Zach back against the wall, securing his wrists and doing his best to ignore the whine that escapes his lips at the lack of satisfying contact. He clears his throat instead and attempts to face Zach seriously, but he can’t help the smile that breaks across his face at the other man’s debauched appearance, his mussed hair and abused mouth.

           Chris circles both wrists in one hand and reaches up with the other to trace Zach’s lips, watching the way the tip of his tongue darts out to meet his finger, touch wet, breath warm…and extremely distracting.

           Chris shudders and tugs his hand away again, fixing Zach with a stern glance that has both of them giggling within moments. “So,” Chris begins, voice low, reaching up again-- _do I never learn?--_ to press his palm to Zach’s cheek, cup his chin, careful, “one question at a time. You asked why-- why now?”

           Zach nods under Chris’ grip, feeling fingers knot in his hair and the press of Chris’ mouth to his own, softer this time, lips opening and tongues tangling, pliable, languid.

           “That’s why,” Chris murmurs when they part, “you’re way too good at that.” He grins a little, eyes still shut, grip on Zach’s wrists forgotten as Zach tugs his hands free, pressing instead to Chris’ hips. He tugs at the hem of Chris’ shirt, not quite meeting his gaze as the eyes open, bluer than blue and darkened with lust.

           “Why,” Chris whispers, not to Zach or to himself, it’s just _there,_ and it’s not a question: it’s an answer, a beginning, and then he continues, “I’ve wanted to do this for fucking _ever,_ couldn’t you tell? Why else would I be such a cockslut--“ and here Zach shudders at the liquid way the word rolls off his tongue, then forces himself to focus-- “for everyone but you?”

           “Um,” Zach says. “Exactly.”

           Chris considers his words and then chuckles to himself, conceding, “okay, so maybe it’s not the most _logical_ way of approaching the situation, but…well, it kind of is. _Think_ about it, Zach. We’re Kirk and Spock, and if we do something, _anything_ to screw this up, it’s not going to be pretty. Kirk and Bones, Kirk and Chekov, hell, Kirk and Nero-- none of that is as important to this entire fucking franchise as Kirk and Spock. And, well," and he hesitates, deep breath, _point of no return,_ "None of them are as important to me as you. And that’s a lot of weight. I was scared, Zach. Hell, I still am. That's why I needed all the distractions. I couldn’t, I _can’t_ fall in love with you, but I did, and it was, is killing me, and then tonight, I mean, the way you were touching me, and we’re in fucking _Paris_ ,” and at this _what happens in Paris stays in Paris_ flashes through Zach’s mind, but he holds his tongue, “and I decided none of that mattered anymore. Even if it did, I couldn’t have held out much longer, so…please tell me I made the right choice.”

           As Chris finishes, Zach notices he’s backed down, his only hold anchored to his shoulders, and though Zach can see the question behind the blue, he wonders how Chris can even have a doubt, at this point.

           “I’m not going _anywhere_ ,” Zach tells him, vehement in his reassurance, because why the hell would he ever want to leave when he has _this,_ and he wants to let himself drown in the ocean of Chris’ eyes but he can’t, not yet, because there’s still, “did you just say you’re in love with me?”

           Chris grins and it’s like any shadow of a doubt clears, disappears; he would trust Zach with his life, so he’ll take his word where his heart is concerned. He doesn’t hesitate to nod, murmur, _“Oui. Je t’aime, mon chéri,”_ with the slightest wink, enough to make Zach’s breath catch and his lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile. It’s one thing to hear the words from the horse’s mouth, but in French, no less? And Zach tells himself it’s the last question, he swears, but he has to ask-- “Seriously, though, what’s with the French?” and then he can’t help the grin and the rush of _feeling_ that accompanies it as Chris ducks his head, cheeks tinged the slightest pink.

           “I’ve never been to France before, and, okay, maybe I was a little overexcited but, y’know, when in Paris…” and the response is rushed and the blush has spread to Chris’ ears, and Zach presses flush to Chris’ body and kisses him, hard and wet and Chris just moans and the rest can wait until later because Zach is backing him toward the bed and climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs, pushing them apart and pressing their bodies together, _“yes, just like that,”_ and then Zach pulls back, holding Chris down while blue meets brown and Chris doesn’t even need to hear the words back because he _knows._ If he’s being honest, he’s always known, and it’s been far too long since he’s been this honest with himself, with anyone, for that matter, and if this is any indication, it’s a welcome change.

            He struggles against the restraint of Zach’s hands and Zach _lets_ him, lets Chris find his lips with everything he has, every secret he’s kept inside, and when they part Zach returns the favor with his mouth on Chris’ neck, hands under his shirt and tugging it up, off, and the press of their bare skin as Chris’ fingers stutter over his buttons with a kind of clumsy grace that only Chris can make endearing, authentic, _right._

_Chris._

Zach doesn’t even realize he’s said it aloud, not until Chris hesitates just a moment in undoing his belt, looking up at him with a hunger that goes deeper than his wicked smile, deeper even than his eyes, darkened pools of irrepressible need.

            “If _this_ makes you say my name like _that,”_ and Chris’ dumbfounded tone betrays his steady, confident motions, but Zach finds he likes the vulnerability, the slightest loss of control, “why haven’t we been doing this for, um, months?”

            Zach’s really not in the mood to talk right now, but he leans down to bite at Chris’ collar and trail kisses to his lips, murmuring between each touch, “does it matter? It’s happening _now,”_ and with the last word he covers Chris’ mouth with his own, letting him free only when he feels his own head start to spin. He fights the urge to swallow Chris’ dazed, “good point,” instead glancing down pointedly until Chris remembers Zach’s belt, and his pants, and the fact that they are both wearing way too much fucking clothing.

            Chris works through buckles and buttons and zippers at an almost alarming rate, and Zach can’t help but think how lucky it is that Chris has had a bit too much practice with this, and then he pushes Zach back and leans in to swallow down his cock and, _oh_.

His fingers press immediately to the back of Chris’ head, holding him there as he searches for a grip, _anything,_ but Chris’ hair is too damn short and he makes a mental note to forbid him from cutting it ever again as he groans a bit in frustration, a groan that quickly turns more guttural, more desperate and he forgets the hair, forgets everything but Chris’ hollowed cheeks and the wet slide of his tongue as Zach’s hands settle on his shoulders, eyes slipping shut even though he _wants_ to watch, wants to see Chris’ lips stretched tight and pretty around him, and this is what he’s wanted for fucking _months,_ fuck the denial and the lies because _this,_ he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

And then the heat is gone and Zach thinks he just might kill someone, if he doesn’t die himself first, but then he glances down (glares down, really) at Chris and is met with thick dark lashes, blue eyes clouded with lust, red lips open and wet, looking utterly debauched and delicious and _desperate_ as ever.

            “Zach,” Chris whispers, and the rasp behind his tone sends a shudder through Zach’s body; that’s a sound he knows he’s going to remember for the rest of his fucking life.

            “Well, if _this_ makes _you_ say my name like _that,_ then…” His tone has just the slightest teasing edge, but Zach meets Chris’ embarrassed smile with one of his own, rather enjoying the flush that creeps up Chris’ neck until he’s pulled down into a kiss, Chris’ tongue parting his grin while unspoken questions and promises are swallowed into the breath between their mouths, the sweat slick between their bodies.

            When they manage to part, Chris is panting and straining against, beneath Zach again as denim presses to bare skin, unnecessarily harsh and “shit, get these off, _now,”_ and Chris presses up just once more and Zach groans at the friction but rolls away to let Chris pull off his jeans in record time, revealing a distinct lack of underwear beneath and Zach’s mouth goes dry because _fuck_ that’s so much hotter than it has any right to be.

            Chris takes advantage of Zach’s momentary distraction to pin him back to the bed, licking into his mouth as he reverses their position, pressing hips to hips as they groan against each others’ lips, in unison and each perfectly in tune with what the other wants.

            Zach thrusts up almost unconsciously, breath escaping in a strangled hiss at the slide of his dick against Chris’, equally hot and hard; then Chris is shifting, moving up Zach’s body to rock back into his thrusts, letting Zach’s cock slide along the crack of his ass. Zach just moans as he grips Chris’ hips, pulling him down hard and then hesitating, color returning to his knuckles as he releases the man straddling him with glazed eyes, gaze unfocused, unseeing.

            “Chris,” Zach breathes, and he can’t stop _touching_ him, fingers cupping his neck, tracing the contours of his chest, stroking down the plane of his back around to the curve of his ass; Chris seems to shudder back to life as he grabs Zach’s hand to drag it further down, following the same path as Zach’s cock just moments earlier. Zach has to bite his tongue as he presses at Chris’ entrance, circling but not pushing in, earning a frustrated whine from the man above him as he moves his hips, wanting more, closer, _“Please…”_

Zach’s laugh is breathless as he slides his hand back around and pulls Chris’ head down for a kiss, licking into his mouth before he releases him and presses his hips up, gently, telling Chris, “If we keep going like this, I won’t be able to stop…”

            “Don’t care,” Chris breathes, eyes slipping shut and Zach’s almost glad because if he could see that _blue_ he’s positive he’d lose control, screw responsibility; he’d have Chris on his back in seconds flat, fuck him into the mattress, but he _can’t--_

“Chris,” he says, voice low, almost dangerous, a tone that could belong to Spock, or even Sylar, and the eyes open, wide, but Zach has the sense to look away, following instead the line of Chris’ jaw, down his neck, chest, lower-- _okay, just as distracting--_ as he starts in again, “Chris. Drawer. Otherwise it’s gonna hurt like hell and I’m not fucking you without a condom and-- you know all of this, why am I--“ and he meets Chris’ gaze, finally, and stops, watching the way Chris’ eyes follow his lips so intently, fascinated, and when Chris realizes he’s stopped talking it’s like a switch flips and he's leaning down to bite at Zach’s mouth, kissing him hard and sliding his hands across Zach’s chest, fingers slipping lower to circle his cock and tug, and Zach hisses against Chris’ lips, holding himself back and pressing at Chris’ chest with an open palm, voice breaking as he tries to beg, _“Please,”_ and he’s not sure if he’s asking for more or if he needs Chris to stop before he _can't_. Chris just groans and pulls back, common sense winning out as he reaches over to fumble with the drawer, shifting just the slightest bit so his cock is pressed to Zach’s, torturing him with the slick of precome between their bodies, and Zach’s breath hitches as his knuckles grow white against Chris’ hips and he catches just a flash of that blue-eyed devil’s grin before his own eyes slip shut and he’s _gone,_ lost in the scent and the touch of the beautiful man above him.

Chris almost pauses at the look on Zach’s face, closed eyes, open mouth, red and wet and panting and he’s sure that he’s never seen anyone so beautiful but he’s also sure that he’s never been more desperate in his _life_ so he rolls the condom down on Zach and slicks his own fingers with lube as he reaches back to open himself up, wanting, _needing,_ and he grins when he realizes how _prepared_ Zach was, lube and condoms right beside the goddamn bed, and just how _hot_ that is, and then the grin slips from his face as he pushes a finger in, jaw slackening, eyes unfocused, but he’s still aware of the body beneath him radiating just as much desire as his own, and he’s hyperaware when Zach comes to and shoves his hand aside, slicking up his own fingers and slipping inside, fucking in and out just once before he adds more, barely giving Chris time to adjust and it _burns_ but Chris bites his lip and presses down, wanting to _feel_ it, feel Zach, deeper, just--

            “Need you. Now.” Chris’ voice rasps on the last word but Zach doesn’t hesitate, just reaches for the lube one last time and Chris feels his own breathing grow more ragged as Zach strokes himself, preparing, and Chris lifts his hips to feel the blunt press of the head of Zach's cock and this is happening, it’s real and it’s been too fucking long but now, now their gazes lock and both men stop breathing.

            It’s only a moment but it feels like years and then Zach just _thrusts,_ slipping in and breaching muscle in a single, impossibly swift motion; they let out their breath in a unified hiss, and Chris should know better than to move but he can’t help it, he _needs_ this, and he leans down to capture Zach’s lips beneath his own, kissing him like everything, absolutely _everything_ that’s happened since the day they met has led to this moment. And maybe, maybe it has.

            Zach groans into the kiss as Chris sinks further down onto his cock, tight and hot and he can’t help but thrust his hips, just a little, testing, and if Chris’ sharp intake of breath and the way his fingers tighten in the sheets are any indication, that’s good, but Zach wants _better,_ wants to give Chris the _best_ he can give, so he shifts and thrusts again, once more, and Chris comes undone above him, cursing and moaning as he ducks his head and presses feverish kisses to Zach’s chest, breath alternately hot and cool against soaked, burning skin, and Zach can’t take it any more.

            Pulling Chris’ hips to his own, Zach tilts his chin up and their eyes meet before he closes the distance with a kiss, brief and promising. Like everything else, it’s over much too soon, but then Zach is manhandling Chris, pressing him back into the mattress, punctuating his motions with a single thrust, eyes on those baby blues as they disappear behind hooded lids and Chris moans, legs wrapping around Zach and pulling him in deep.

            Chris matches his rhythm immediately, desperation and ecstasy clear in the perfect O of his mouth, the way his eyes never leave Zach’s face, much as he has to struggle to keep them open: he’s not going to miss a moment of this.

            When Zach reaches between their bodies to run a long, teasing finger down Chris’ cock, though, he thinks that might prove easier said than done.

            Zach draws his hand away with a wicked smirk, ignoring Chris’ pleas for _more,_ and he doesn’t miss a beat as he leans down to whisper, breath hot on Chris’ ear, neck, “I want you to come just from my cock; filling you up, pushing you closer to the edge with every thrust--” and his rhythm increases, hips stuttering, drawing a guttural moan from Chris’ throat-- “watching you come undone beneath me…”

            The last word escapes in a growl, Zach’s teeth grazing the edge of Chris’ jaw, slipping down to his neck, the tip of his tongue pressed lightly to Chris’ throat as it vibrates with the echo of his moans. The tiniest of stings, soothed over by wet heat, and Chris is panting beneath Zach, pressing up, still struggling for _more…_

And then Zach has Chris pinned back to the bed, grip like a vice around each of his wrists as he holds him down and gives him exactly what he wants, what he’s been begging for.

            “Come on, Chris. Come for me. I want-- I want to see it. I want to see _you.”_

Chris groans at the sound of Zach’s ragged breathing, his broken attempts at speech, amazed that he can still speak at all but glad because _fuck_ if that isn’t the hottest thing Chris has ever heard, and he forces his eyes open because he wants to seeZach, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the contours of his chest, the ripple of his muscle as he _thrusts,_ relentless, but when Chris’ eyes lock with Zach’s he can’t look away, can’t quite process the fact that Zach is still watching _him,_ gaze filled with lust, with--

            And the way his shining brown eyes sharpen beneath intense blue steals Chris’ breath, and it’s only moments before his back is arching, hips pressed flush to Zach’s as he comes. The gasps that escape his lips go straight to Zach’s cock, the hot mess between their sweat-slick bodies pushing him closer as his thrusts grow more erratic, more desperate, and all that’s left is to lose control.

            Zach presses his face into Chris’ shoulder as he comes, the _clenching_ and the _heat_ and it’s all suddenly too much, and if Chris were capable of coherent thought he might be a little disappointed that he can’t see Zach’s face but right now, um, he’s more distracted by the fact that they just had _sex_ ( _finally,_ a voice in the back of his head comments, sounding suspiciously like Zoe, a thought which makes him smile), and then he smiles some more because hey, they could totally do this again, like, all the time, and then he feels it, really _feels_ it, Zach inside of him, filling him up, surrounding him, and he hasn’t felt it like _this_ in so damn long and he had almost forgotten just how good it could be but then again, his judgment’s probably skewed by the fact that it’s _Zach_ breathing hot against his neck, _Zach_ still shaking on top of him, _Zach_ anywhere, everywhere he can possibly reach without, it seems, any intention of moving in the foreseeable future.

            He does manage to lift his head the slightest bit, though, to press a kiss to the shell of Chris’ ear and meet his gaze, stare steady as ever despite the fact that he might be permanently paralyzed below the waist, only probably not because it still feels _so goddamn good_ that he just can’t bring himself to pull out, disgusting as he knows it’ll be all too soon.

            Without the slightest preamble, though he can’t be blamed, not with those eyes, those fucking _beautiful_ blue eyes locked on his, Zach announces, “Right, so, I love you too, okay?” He catches himself, pauses, then clarifies, “and that’s not just the sex talking,” and as he says it he knows it’s true, he’s never been more sure of anything in his _life,_ and no, wait, that's probably a lie, he was pretty damn sure about this whole having-sex-with-Chris thing a little while ago, too, and Chris can _see_ Zach thinking too much like he tends to do, and, “Zach? Tell your brain to shut up,” and then Chris’ hand snakes up to pull Zach’s face down to his, and they kiss until they’re both panting again and Zach can feel himself growing half-hard, still buried inside Chris, and he’d love to go again, he really would, but he can’t bring himself to move and Chris is spent too, and it’s just not worth the effort when they’ve got plenty of time, all the time in the world, in fact, and Zach grins at the thought and swipes his tongue over Chris’ lips one last time, pulling back with a sigh.

            “I’m exhausted,” he informs Chris matter-of-factly, gaze clouded and smile lazy with satisfaction as Chris ponders this for a moment, biting his lip before finally settling on, “Fatigued, as it were?” He grins, eyes already half shut, though he's clearly pleased with himself.

            Zach does his best to rearrange his features into something resembling disapproval. “You can do better than _that,”_ he sneers, prompting Chris to squirm and clench beneath him in retaliation. Zach’s next words are lost in his groan, and when his vision clears, he can’t help but roll his eyes at Chris’ expression, which can now only be described as downright smug. _“Anyway,”_ Zach continues with a huff, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning because there’s something about Chris, or at least being here with him, now, like _this,_ that makes Zach want to smile uncontrollably and _never_ stop and it’s been a while since any afterglow has even _compared_ to this, and that kind of scares him but it also makes him ridiculously, _ridiculously_ happy, “We should both get some sleep, so you can improve your vocabulary skills--“ and at this Chris actually sticks his _tongue_ out at him, really, he’s five, it’s adorable-- “and so I can, um.”

            “Not be a bitch?” Chris offers helpfully, and Zach glares down at him but doesn’t even try to suppress his inevitable smile. “Pretty much.”

            Zach pulls out as gently as he can, but he sees Chris wince beneath him at the loss. Zach almost feels guilty as he pauses for a moment to admire the view, but he can’t help himself when Chrisis stretched out beneath him, entire body flushed the slightest pink, slick with sweat and sticky with come, lips darkened with the shadow of bruising kisses, patterns of fingerprints clear along his hips and wrists.

            With a groan, Zach forces himself to pull away, settling with an open-mouthed kiss against the hollow at the base of Chris’ throat as he drags himself off the bed to retrieve a towel, taking pity on the squirming figure between the sheets.

            When he returns, Chris has curled himself around Zach’s pillow and is grinning up at him, warmth radiating from just that simple expression. Zach sighs inwardly at the sight and returns the smile with one of his own, kneeling beside him on the bed and tugging at his legs until Chris returns to his previous position with a whine, legs falling open invitingly.

            He cocks his head as Zach straddles his knees, raising an eyebrow in response as he presses the towel between Chris’ legs, reaching behind his balls to thumb at his entrance, the crease of his thigh, a wicked grin flickering across his face as he teases Chris mercilessly.

            He moves upward to swipe the towel over the flat expanse of his stomach, placing an open-mouthed kiss just below Chris' navel when he finishes. “Much better,” he breathes against the wet skin, eliciting a tortured groan from the man beneath him. His cock is half-hard, and Zach can feel his own arousal in the pit of his stomach, but he wills it away as he rolls onto his back beside Chris, tossing the towel on the floor and craning his neck to nip at his ear.

            “Plenty of time for that later,” Zach tells him, and normally Chris would protest, but he _is_ tired and somewhere in Zach’s whisper is a promise, and if Chris can trust in anything, it’s a promise from Zachary Quinto.

            So he hooks his chin over Zach’s shoulder when the older man turns on his side to shut off the light, curling an arm around his waist possessively, and he can’t even begin to describe the thrill that passes through him when Zach’s fingers lace with his own and tug, pressure he can feel in even the darkest corners of his heart.

            _“Bonne nuit,”_ he whispers to the air, pressing his smile to still-slick skin as he slides a leg between Zach’s own, his message clear: _mine._

Zach lips curve into a grin that never really disappeared to begin with, eyes shut as his feet press to Chris’, stroking his ankle until his breathing slows, grip slackening just slightly; only then does Zach let himself drift off to sleep, contented sighs settling into a steady cadence to match the rhythm of Chris’ heartbeat.

\---

            The proximity isn’t quite so inviting the next morning.

            Sure, Zach can appreciate the fact that he has a beautiful boy draped around him, body practically _begging_ to be violated, but. Not now. Not when he has to piss and can still feel last night’s sweat sticky on his skin, considerably more unpleasant than it had been just hours ago. Now it’s just kind of gross, and on top of everything else, well, Zach is _not_ a morning person.

            “At least _someone’s_ getting some sleep,” Zach grumbles to no one in particular as he struggles to free himself from Chris’ clutches. Chris just groans lightly in response and pulls him closer, tucking his head into Zach’s shoulder and sighing contentedly.

            Relenting, Zach settles into the touch, smiling a little in spite of himself as he presses a kiss to the top of Chris’ head. The man beside him-- wrapped around him, really-- stirs once more, a matching smile spreading over his face even before his eyes open, a hand sliding the sheet away from Zach’s waist as exploring fingers slip across his abdomen.

            Zach sighs and catches Chris’ fingers in his own, startling the blue eyes open as Chris props himself up on an elbow, looking indignant.

            “Bathroom,” Zach explains shortly, disentangling himself from the mesh of limbs. “Then you can jack me off all you like.” He presses closed lips to Chris’ mouth-- no need to subject him to morning breath just yet-- and slides out of bed, tugging on the nearest pair of boxers as he makes his way to the bathroom.

            He returns a few minutes later to find Chris sprawled across the bed, the thin sheet draped dangerously low around his hips and doing absolutely nothing to preserve his modesty. Zach’s eyes trace the contours of Chris’ chest down to the half-hard outline of his cock, tempted to let himself give in, to--

            “So can I blow you now?”

            Zach bites back his groan and moves closer to the bed. “Oh? Stepped up our game, I see…”

            Chris just grins, wolfish, and beckons Zach to come closer. It’s not particularly sexy or seductive-- thank god, Zach thinks, because if Chris could pull that off this early in the morning, well, Zach would be powerless to resist-- yet something about the pure _want_ in the gesture makes Zach’s knees go weak, and he’s horribly tempted to just lose himself in the heat of his mouth and his touch-- but--

            “Nope.” Zach takes another step toward the bed and catches Chris’ hand in his own, linking their fingers together and smiling just the slightest bit at the other man’s crestfallen expression. “But-- you--” His gaze falls to the sheets, hand slack in Zach’s grip.

            “I know what I promised,” Zach tells him, nudging Chris’ chin up with his free hand as best he can; chuckling, he continues, “but I have, dare I say, an even _better_ proposition for you.” He waits until Chris’ eyes, still shining hopefully, turn up to meet his own, and then, “let’s go for a run.”

            “A _run? Exercise_ is your idea of an ‘even better proposition’?”

            Zach presses a finger to Chris’ lips, hushing him, though Chris’ outraged expression is almost too adorable to resist. “You didn’t let me finish. You go running with me, and I’ll fuck you in the shower.”

            Comprehension slowly dawns across Chris' features, and moments later he’s pushing Zach’s hand away and leaning up to kiss him, acquiescing enthusiastically. Zach responds in kind, pleased to see a smile back on the other man's face.

            When they pull apart, Chris’ eyes are still gleaming, though this time there's an edge of mischief in his gaze. “Hey, Zach?”

            “Mmm?”

            “Can I suck you off in the shower, too?”

            Zach just laughs at Chris’ giddy expression and shrugs his consent, earning another kiss and affectionate glance from those adoring blue eyes. Only this time, he can see beyond the sapphire to what he’d missed before: the love in his own mahogany gaze, reflected back at him.

            And that, well. That’s better than all the shower sex in the world.


End file.
